The Cathedral
by cheitanz
Summary: Eternal sanctuary is granted to The Saviour of the Wizarding World after a life of disappointments. Not my usual stuff, so be warned.


AN: This is just a quick one-shot which was inspired by the short film The Cathedral, www. dailymotion. com/video/x3d5ln_katedra-tomek-baginski-2002_shortfilms, by Tomek Bagiński and was betaed by Allergic-To-Sunlight

Summary: Eternal sanctuary is granted to The Saviour of the Wizarding World after a life of disappointments.

**The Cathedral**

A man - clad in crimson robes which hugged tightly to his toned body; holding a staff which had a gnarled claw at the top clamping a blood red diamond in place; long black hair fell down his back in waves, while a circlet of silver adorned his crown; piercing green eyes, which in harsher times would have been compared to the killing curse, held knowledge both darker and more plentiful than any his age should posses; a face which appeared older than his body would betray - scars and lines marred the handsome face, yet it was the face of a battle-hardened leader, one who had seen what should not be seen and done what should not be done to protect those he cared for.

He stood, tall and resolved, facing the structure - a magnificent structure; strands of wood and stone interwoven to create a stunning visage of patchwork wonder; at the tip of a spire, two hands wrapped around each other and reached out to the sky holding an orb which pulsed with milky light. The spire twisted in a helix, plummeting to the ground before both strands parted to create a pair of pillars, which held the front in place and started the intricate weaves which formed the face of the building; the weaves became more frenzied and complicated the closer to the centre they got, until upon reaching that fine line they stopped and dived down in a series of loose threads culminating in the entrance; the archway for the door was made from these single stands as they grew outwards and fell to the ground to form a perfect arc; the door itself was created purely from wooden branches which tangled and knotted to form a bewitching pattern which locked the doors shut.

But it wasn't any of this natural beauty which caught the man's attention - no, it was the sculpted face which was positioned at the pinnacle of the archway, nestled in between the branches and veins as they parted to create the arch. It was a face Harry Potter never expected to see again, a face which had been heralded as the greatest wizard since Merlin, a face which was still whispered through the Halls of Hogwarts as something to be revered. But to Harry it was a face which represented family. It was the face of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbeldore, esteemed Headmaster of Hogwarts and surrogate grandfather to The-Boy-Who-Lived. Harry gazed at the face for a long time, it was too lifelike, too real, it set Harry on edge to see the Headmaster's head nestled at the front of the strange building.

This was the Cathedral, haven of the powerful and sanctuary for the shadows; a place where mystery shrouded all truth and clouded all judgement, a place so inherently powerful that it was hidden above the earth, miles into the atmosphere and cloaked from any that attempted to find it without due cause. Harry had watched as his lifelong friends, Ron and Hermione, had been accepted to the Cathedral 10 years prior, 10 days after the fall of the Dark Lord. He had never seen them again. Since that day Harry had become focused on a single task, the task of reshaping the Wizarding World to a place which its residents could be proud of and happy to live within. Ten weeks ago he had succeeded, the Magical World of Britain became the leader of a completely unified Wizarding Europe. Europe now held equal rights for all magically sentient beings and a democratic system of government with an autonomous ruler at its head, who had the power to veto any laws which were not in accordance with the Dumbledorian Charter 2005, yet held no power to create new laws.

Up until now that ruler had been Harry, But now that his task was finished he had lost the focus which had driven him for all those years: after finishing school in 1997 he, along with Ron and Hermione, had hunted and tracked Voldemort and his Death Eaters for years - stopping raids and implementing pre-emptive strikes which slowly crippled the Dark Lords followers, until on the 13 January 2004 Harry Potter destroyed Voldemort in a duel which spanned the continent and a power show which put to shame the rest of the magical potential of Europe combined. During the fight Ron and Hermione had been injured, a blast of raw power had resulted in their minds being filled with the dying thoughts of all those that succumbed to death on the battlefield that day, playing in a continuous loop. Many tried, but all failed, to reverse the condition. It didn't take long for both to lose all hope and begin feeling suicidal from the constant depressing thoughts playing in their heads. It was at this point the Cathedral accepted them into her embrace.

Harry was broken out of his reverie by a light rumbling which echoed across the floating island, a storm was brewing and thunder was on its way. His staff clacked against the hard earth as he took his first step towards the doors, the diamond at its tip began glowing, the emotion which was spinning through Harry's head causing him to lose his absolute control over his magic.

As he reached the doors he raised his hand, hesitating as he curled his fingers into a fist to knock. The fist fell down towards the door, but it was a flat palm which fell against it, Harry's Gryffindor courage failing him in the presence of the unknown. The material beneath his palm felt warm, alive; it pulsed with a magical presence. Harry removed his hand from the door and, emboldened by the welcoming warmth of the entranceway, knocked.

The doors swung open to reveal the interior of the Cathedral. Eight pillars, four along each side, created the framework for the walls; the pillars appeared to be old gnarled tree trunks, their roots spilling out across and into the floor. In between the pillars, faux windows had been woven from the branches which had sprouted from the pillars, allowing the twilight to filter though the building. The trunks curved at the top and met in the middle creating a roof, the spaces in-between filled with leafy webbing.

After the last pillar the Cathedral seemed to stop, as if unfinished; roots and branches halted in jagged lines were growth had halted.

The floor was of compacted dirt and crunched under Harry's feet as he walked along the hall way, gazing at the buildings majesty. When he arrived at the first pillar, he halted abruptly. Embedded within it was a face he had seen only once before, a face which sent chills down his spine from the memories it wrenched from the depths of his mind - Salazar Slytherin gazed fixedly from the centre of the first pillar. Twisting rapidly he found Godric Gryffindor's head buried within the pillar opposite. Both heads were, again, far to realistic and seriously creeped the battle-hardened politician out. Deciding that he didn't want to look at them any more he continued on, reaching the first set of windows. Each echoed the archway which the door was located in: branches of wood twined together to create erratic patterns. The weaving of these motifs together resulted in a typical gothic window being formed. The view outside of these windows was not nearly as spectacular as the building itself; the Cathedral was positioned at the very edge of the floating island meaning that all Harry could see through the windows was barren wasteland, stripped of any living particles by the strength of the omnipresent magic.

Deciding that he had stared at the rustic scene long enough, Harry continued along his journey through the corridor. He quickly passed the next two sets of pillars after catching a glimpse of more of the creepy realistic busts in the next set of pillars - this time of the last two founders and two other people he didn't recognise. He paused at the windows each time - taking pleasure from the bizarre designs and unpredictable patterns - but it wasn't till he reached the final set of pillars that Harry froze, standing rigid in the centre of the hall, gaze fixed simultaneously on both the pillars at the edge of the structure.

Lying within the last two pillars lay the heads of Ron and Hermione.

Harry just stared incredulously at the visages in front of him. They were too lifelike, too real; Harry approached the pillar which housed Hermione's head and gently brushed his hand across her cheek. Definitely too real, it still felt warm, Harry couldn't deny that which he had tried desperately to since seeing Dumbledore at the entrance - the heads which adorned the walls of the Cathedral were the remains of the transmuted bodies of the people represented within it. Tears began to snake there way down Harry's cheek at seeing what had become of his friends. Still in front of Hermione's pillar, he reached up and lay a kiss on her wooden lips, tears wetting her cheek. Her lips slowly widened into a smile and her wooden lashes fluttered open, revealing sightless, ligneous, orbs which gazed fondly upon him. Harry jumped back in surprise at the response, but it quickly turned to intrigue as he stepped back towards her and caressed her face.

"Hermione"

The smile which graced her face widened, almost as if in recognition of the voice, but she couldn't hear and nor could she see; for to all intents and purposes she was a wooden figure granted sentient thought, only when the time was right. Harry slowly stepped away from his friend, moist eyes glistening in the twilight, and turned to his best mate, he who had stood at his right hand all through the final battle and he who had taken the curse meant for Harry, which had tied him and Hermione to the realm of the dead. Ron was cold, the wood which he lay within wasn't exposed to any light and the magic could only do so much. Harry's hand ran across his friends hair, not through, for the wood had bonded the strands of flame together. He repeated the same actions as he had done to Hermione; a kiss on cold wooden lips, a caress along frigid cheeks and a final gaze which held a longing for times past. Ron echoed Hermione's actions; sightless eyes gazed with love upon his life long friend and wooden lips creaked into a smile. Harry couldn't bear it - gazing at his friends frozen in an eternal state of bliss while he remained trapped, bound to a world which provided him no focus nor the love his friends provided him.

Harry continued his journey through the Cathedral, refusing to meet his friends' blank gaze again. He reached the edge of the building, passing its rugged ends, and, coming upon the edge of the island, gazed out over the earth and fell into thought. The revolving orb beneath him had wronged him at so many turns starting from when he was only a year old to his scant few years as the Wizarding World's Protector, the title bestowed on him on his inauguration as leader of the new European order...

It was with determination that Harry turned back towards the Cathedral and planted his staff deeply into the ground. Harsh, bright light seeped out of the staff's tip in waves, striking the Cathedral and illuminating its interior with rough, harsh light, causing each strand of wood to be thrown into bright luminescence. As the light reached each of the visages they became animated and, wooden brows knitting, turned away from the light. While the whole Cathedral began to squirm against the dazzling light Harry watched, a grim expression adorning his face, as the sanctuary's power rose and joined with his, working with his core to fulfil his intent. His intent, his want, for liberation, for peace, for tranquility.

The staff, along with Harry's hand and forearm, exploded in a shower of dust as the power reached a crescendo. He arched his back as pain wracked through his body, changing it, transforming it. Gnarled branches thrust through his chest, twisting and turning, growing up before diving back into the soil; clouds of dust erupting from the cavities. His legs became rooted to the spot as his toes became elongated and buried themselves into the earth. His legs sprouted and the offshoots sprung out, wrapping round other branches, obscure patterns forming within the gaps. Branches flung out of his shoulders and braided themselves before turning into a helix flowing up to the heights of the Cathedral. Harry melded with the rest of the building, fusing with the ragged edges, yet breaking off as the magic burned out, leaving ragged edges where the branches stopped growing.

Life stilled, the air calmed. Harry joined his friends in eternal tranquility.


End file.
